


Terms of Victory

by revampired



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depression, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide Attempt, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6308533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revampired/pseuds/revampired
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war is over, the angels have won, and Demon General Ivan Braginsky is set to stand trial for war crimes. </p><p>Alfred, an Angel soldier who was brutally tortured by him and his subordinates, is struggling years after the fact to be okay again, even as he prepares to testify.</p><p>[Not abandoned, but definitely on hiatus. I completely lost the motivation for this, as well as the original file for where I was writing it, but I still do want to write the conclusion eventually. I'm semi-active on here, so shoot me a message if you have questions!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the warnings! I've been wanting to write a rape recovery story for a while now, and hopefully I'll do it justice. I know there are a lot of Angel/Demon AUs, but I'm not taking from any in particular to write this, so if something seems familiar that's not intentional. Thanks for reading, please leave a comment if you have any constructive criticism!
> 
> (If you're reading my other work, Ch 2 of that is coming soon, I just had this saved on my computer and wanted to post it so no one thought this account was inactive.)

“Victory, victory!”

Someone was running down the streets of the imperial city, whooping and hollering. “We won, we beat those devils back!”

The newspapers were scrambling in their white marble offices to see who could print it first – who would get the news out hot on the tail of the youths now banging on shop windows and car doors. A decade long war against the demons for control of the fate of humanity, soundly won. Opposition generals were being hunted down as they fled like rabbits to the deepest shadows beyond the realm of human life. Troops would be pouring in from all corners for a great celebration in the Imperial City – a beautiful gleaming grid of marble and cloud and old soul magic.

 Office workers left their desks, shopkeepers took their stock to the streets and gave it free to anyone they could find, no charge on this day of glorious celebration. Troops who had already returned organized into ramshackle parades of half-formed bands and banners, but no one seemed to care that the tunes were made up on the spot.

Champagne and wine and cider flowed from fountains and bottles and windows in steady streams. There had been rations, there had been terror and torture and torment, constant reports of attack on the outskirts of the city. The injured with their bound up wings and wrist cuffs from uncontrolled magic loomed in alleyways and street corners and sanatoriums. But today, a bound wing was not an uncomfortable thing to avoid, it was a cause for celebration. Young men and women kissed these fragile beings who gave their lives and souls for their causes, danced with them in streets glistening with the gold and white banner of the angels.

General Arthur Kirkland shivered in his tent on the front. Too long, he thought, too long had this war ripped apart families, ruined lives. He would ensure that those responsible were punished. The demonic emperor was captured, his kingdom occupied, but there was one last order of business. He picked up his phone and placed a call. “Francis, I’ve just been in touch with the president. He wants me to make a speech within the week at the capitol, once most of the troops have either gone home or been relocated. Do you have intel on the location of General Ivan Braginsky?”

Francis blew out a gust of air on the other end of the receiver. “We think we found someone who does. One of his most trusted aides. We’ll see how likely he is to talk.”

“Do whatever you need for him to give up the location,” Arthur said, “You know what Ivan did. I need to be in the imperial city within the week for official celebrations – I know someone who sorely needs some good news.”

“I know. Believe me, we won’t rest until he’s caught.” Francis sighed, wearier than he would ever show in public. “Give my greetings to the boys when you get back – I hear Mathieu has become quite the politician. And Alfred –“ He paused, and Arthur felt the familiar cloud of dark, bloody anger roiling in his gut, knew Francis felt it too. “Make sure Alfred’s doing alright.” 

In the Imperial City, ages from the front lines and Francis, glittering green fireworks cracked against a tenth story wall and jubilant crowds shook the buildings. Alfred F. Jones woke up screaming.

* * *

 

_His head was pounding, thighs aching. His leg muscles felt like jelly, wobbly and trembling._

_He’d been bound for what felt like hours and might well have been, wrists together and ankles apart, bent over a low table in some room in some wing of this same dungeon, too tired to cry and too tired to stop the tears from leaking out of his glassy eyes, no matter how many tortures they put him through._

_One of the gathered crowd shoved into into him and he choked out a cry. His insides felt like they’d been opened with a jackhammer, the muscles in his ass sore and tender. The forceful entry was lubricated with come from many, many rounds of abuse, but he’d been so used that ever movement sent a spike of pain up his spine and scraped his insides raw._

_The door clicked open and the clunk of boots echoed with Alfred’s pounding heartbeat. Alfred’s eyes flitted to the newcomer – sleek black uniform, silver trim, silver metals glinting on a sash. Alfred recognized him immediately. Ivan Braginsky, a general with a reputation for ruthlessness and results. Rumors ranged from beatings for tardiness to a particularly nasty one, which said he kidnapped and tortured the family of a deserter until the poor soldier turned himself in – then shot the family members, one by one, before carting the deserter off to prison._

_Also, he was Alfred’s wartime equal – both generals, commanding armies and whose strategies are feared throughout the opposing side. The sharp edges of the table pressed against Alfred’s protruding hip bones as some footsoldier thrust into him, again and again. A spark of fear pooled in Alfred’s hollow stomach, and he gasped as his current abuser grabbed him by the suppressant collar and pulled him up, choking him, exposing the purpling hickeys on his neck, his swollen red lips, his swollen red-rimmed eyes, the tear tracks down his cheeks._

_Ivan’s eyes were on him, getting fucked like some common slut in an army barrack._ I didn’t want this _. He tried to say, thought he knew deep down that Ivan must’ve known what his subordinates were doing, must’ve authorized it somehow. His gasps came in shorter, shallower breaths, as whoever was inside him came closer to climax. Ivan came closer and Alfred felt himself buckle, sobbing weakly._

_Ivan’s hand was reaching behind him, resting on the body of whoever was pounding into him. Alfred could feel his cold eyes. “Now,” he said, in a surprisingly gentle voice, “What have I said to you about being kind to my pets?”_

_Pet? Alfred felt a surge of shame and horror as he shivered and sweat and panted like a dog. Whoever was in him was close, come from before was leaking out of him and down his spread legs as he prepared to be filled again, and again, and again and again and again –_

_A sound like a watermelon splitting apart filled the room. Alfred heard screaming and a splatter of something warm on his back, probably come, but whoever was still inside him so what –_

_Ivan pulled his abuser from him and Alfred turned in time to see him toss a corpse with a mangled, bloody head across the room. His eyes went wide and his vision dark as screaming filled his ears, and Ivan yanked him up by the hair and looked at him, the piercing violet of his eyes going through him like a knife, his legs shaking his body ruined his mind in tatters his_ soul-

Alfred jolted awake, crying out as the dingy dungeon grew dimmer and his own room came into view.

A nightmare.  Alfred groaned and rubbed his eyes, flopping back onto the sheets. He hadn’t had one so vivid in a long time, and about a specific time, too. Mostly they came in flashes, a sound, a sight, the feeling of hands around his neck. He reached up in a momentary panic to his neck, and sighed in relief to find it bare.

The suppressor cuffs around his wrists weren’t black and chained like the one he wore during his imprisonment. They were white, with soft blue lighting and little buttons to adjust comfort settings and most importantly, he could take them off if he wanted to. 

But he didn’t.

As he came back to himself, he realized there were noises coming from outside, as though there was a parade going through. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and Matthew’s voice came, uncharacteristically loud, through the walls.

Alfred struggled to get himself up and didn’t bother to change out of his dirty pajamas before opening the door to a polished, professional, proud-looking brother.

Matthew, ever the empath, did not immediately launch into whatever fantastic news he clearly was about to share. He hardly ever came to visit anymore, what with all the wartime politicking his newfound career forced him to do, but he looked Alfred up and down and smiled that sad smile that Alfred half loved half hated. “How’re you doing, Al?”

_I had a nightmare_ , Alfred wanted to say, but his own helplessness weighed on him. It’d been years, and Matthew had more important things to do than listen to his broken brother cry about his years of torture for the umpteenth time. He tacked on some semblance of his old, winning smile. “I’m good. So good, in fact, that I gave Kiku the day off.”

Matthew looked unsure, Kiku had been living with him pretty permanently since he’d been hired as Alfred’s personal care companion, and Alfred’s attempt at a winning smile cracked a bit at the edges. “And uh, more importantly, Kiku thought it was a fine idea. He asked to go see his brother today. They don’t hang out much, now that Kiku’s got a real job.”

Kiku’d always had a real job. That was a bit of an unfair jab, but Matthew just smiled his sweet, sad smile. “I’m sorry Al, you know how busy I’ve been, but I’ll be able to see you more now – did you just wake up?”

“Uh, yeah, what time is it?”

“It’s noon but – Oh Al, it doesn’t matter. Look,” he held up a newspaper, the headline taking up half the page. _Victory for the Angels. Unconditional Surrender_. “We won. _You_ won.”

Alfred froze. He felt – well, he didn’t know what he felt. His emotions were roiling, some mix of nausea and frustration and yes, happiness – but… ”Mattie, come in, please.”

Matthew was rambling as Alfred put on a pot of coffee, which would’ve been much to Kiku’s chagrin, he knew. No heavily caffeinated beverages after 10:00 am. “I know we wouldn’t have done it without you, your intelligence from the fortress gave us so much about enemy technology, and how you got a team together to build them – Alfred I know you had a part in this. More than a part, it was all you, it…”

Curiosity gnawed at Alfred. He knew he shouldn’t ask, that Kiku said to focus on himself and not on _him_ , but– “Mattie, have they found Braginsky?”

Matthew stopped, mid-word. He fidgeted in his seat, mumbling, “S’classified, Alfred, you know I can’t talk about this stuff with non-combatants. 

“Even though I’m the reason we won the entire war?” Alfred raised an eyebrow, wryly. He was being unfair again, but he wanted to know. He needed to know.

Matthew glared at him, exhasperated. “Don’t _do_ that! I’m sorry, I – oh, fine.” He sighed, and Alfred couldn’t help but laugh at his brother, in his fancy suit and his briefcase and his wrists, whose only accessory is a new golden watch, still flustered around his fucked up brother. “We have a trail, but nothing definitive. He ran when the news of surrender started to spread, it seems.”

Alfred wasn’t expecting to feel the impact of Matthew’s words like a punch in the gut. He struggled to find something to say, something normal and defiant and not small and weak.

Matthew’s entire being oozed pity. Alfred, in his unwashed pajamas and tousled hair and not-getting-up-until-noon, felt like his shame was palpable, written on the walls of his house and on the comfort-fit suppressor cuffs on his wrists.

“Alfred,” Matthew tried, “Al, I know you want to catch him. We all do. Please, just focus on you for now. The president is having a ceremony tomorrow for everyone involved in our victory – he specifically mentioned that I wanted you there. I was serious when I say your intel might’ve won the war. We’re all so proud of you. It’s at three and – oh Alfred.” Matthew hugged him, and Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat. He should be happy, he knew.

Matthew smelled like cologne, the expensive kind that reminded him of department stores and overeager bellhops.

Alfred hadn’t left the apartment in a week.

_It’s like termites,_ he’d said once, jittery on no sleep, _like they’re eating away at everything I used to be until all that’s left are rotten strips of wood. And then it’ll be too late. I think it’s already too late._ Matthew had looked so horrified at that that Alfred had never brought anything like that up again.

“There’s a parade outside," Matthew noted, sipping on a cup of black coffee. “Feel like facing the day?”

“Sure,” Alfred said, “Gimme a chance to get dressed.” There’s a photo on the mantle of him and Matthew from before the war, at some concert or game or club – he’s grinning in it, genuine and sunny. Alfred tried to match it in what he flashes back to Matthew, but both it and his answer felt fake.

* * *

 

Alfred put on long sleeves despite the relative heat. It was a loose shirt, long and cool, which would easily cover his cuffs. They were the last remaining symbol of his captivity, even if they were there for his own safety.  That, and a white rippling scar on the side of his forehead, along his hairline, where the magic overflowing from his system had burned him.

He was physically fine, years later, but the diagnosis wasn’t good all around. He remembered lying tied down to a hospital bed, for his own good, on sedatives that made it impossible for him to use the bathroom by himself, for his own good, white cuffs that were exactly the same in purpose to the thick iron collar he’d worn during his captivity, _for his own good_.

Matt had clasped his hands and cried as the doctor had grimaced and explained the damage. His soul, his source of magic and strength, cleaved straight in two.  

Matthew gripped Alfred’s arm as they wandered down to the crowded streets. People cheered, kissed their cheeks. Alfred smiled weakly at everything, the overwhelming joy and heat in the air. He was happy, he wanted to be happy.

“Arthur is coming in for the ceremony,” Matthew shouted to him over the din. “Francis isn’t, but he’ll be home soon. What do you say we go to dinner, to a place we all like?”

“I guess that’s fine, Arthur and Francis could never agree on a place,” Alfred shouted back, “I’m good with anywhere that has a good burger.”

“You never change,” Matthew teased, and Alfred rolled his eyes.

It was spectacular, a blinding mass of gold and white. Shimmering confetti flew through the sky, raining down on the crowds below. Alfred found himself swept up in the jubilation, grinning and laughing and swinging through dances with men and women. The anthem of the angels blared through trumpets, saxophones, and drumbeats. No one stopped to stare pityingly at his cuffs, at the scar on his head.

The daylight crowned his gold hair like a halo, and Alfred breathed in deeply. Maybe in victory he would find himself again.

The sunlight faded, casting a long orange glow on the crowd. How long had they been out, Alfred wondered. It was nice after spending so long indoors. The shadows rippled like waves, in corners and alleyways, as people floated home, high on the news. Alfred caught someone’s eye – tall and handsome and soft, with silver hair and deep purple eyes – wait.

Alfred blinked and the vision was gone. The warmth of the day faded into a chill that reached down into his bones.

“Al?” Matthew was looking at him in concern.

Alfred shook his head. “’M good. Want to head home, make some dinner? I’m starving.”

They made it back to Alfred’s apartment. Kiku had left a voicemail, a general well-wish and a reminder that he’d be back tomorrow morning. Alfred wrapped himself up in a blanket as Matthew heat up some leftover soup. He had to have been mistaking. Ivan was on the run – he wouldn’t just turn up in the Imperial City.

“Mattie?” Alfred murmured, above the soft sounds of boiling soup. “Want to stay over? Just for tonight?”

Matthew smiled, sadly. “I’m sorry, Al, I need to get back to work – there’ll be a ton of paperwork for me to deal with, smoothing out the edges of our transition to peacetime.”

Alfred tried not to feel too disappointed. Matt was busy, he knew, and they’d spent the entire day together. It couldn’t last forever – the world turned and changed, even if he didn’t. 

Matthew reached out to cup Alfred’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright? For the ceremony.” 

Alfred nodded. The evening and night settled in like a cloak, wrapping everything in a deep purple chill, and Matthew left.

 At precisely eleven at night, Alfred slid into bed, ready to spend another night in restless insomnia. _They’ll find him_ , he told himself, thinking of Matthew in his office working late into the night, all fancy gold watches and plush leather chairs, of Arthur in his crisp uniform, of Francis and his soft yellow hair, _He can’t hurt you anymore._

* * *

 

Kiku knocked on the door at precisely 10 am.

_Ivan pulled him up by the chain, and Alfred stood on trembling legs to lessen the horrible choking sensation at his neck. Ivan tossed him like a doll to the bed, and Alfred buried his face in soft pillows as the same sick dread threatened to spill out of him at the inevitability of his violation. His hands clasped desperately onto the scrap of cloth underwear, his last bit of modesty, and he gasped as Ivan slid an unlubricated finger into him._

_“Tch. Torn up, like the others. How is this mess supposed to be pleasureable?” Ivan pulled his finger out of Alfred and grasped the collar until he choked. “No matter, there are other ways you can serve me.”_

Alfred jolted up, grasping at his neck before the haze of sleep faded and he remembered where he was. It was had to move because he’d tossed and turned at night, twisting his sheets tightly around his legs, and a knock at the door was safe – when he had been captured, demons would just barge in, there was no gentle alert and no soft click of a metal bracelet on the wooden door.

Kiku was waiting for Alfred to let him in. He had a key, as did Matthew, but he always waited for precisely five minutes outside the door to allow Alfred some modicum of choice. It was one of the things he did that Alfred was so appreciative of – Kiku had been the fifth and final live-in healthcare companion Alfred had gone through, not including some especially grueling in-between times where Matthew watched him and learned that even his deep, unerring love simply couldn’t provide the healing Alfred needed.

Alfred didn’t bother to try and freshen up before pushing himself up and out of bed. Kiku had seen him in much, much worse states than unwashed in the morning.

He still had approximately three and a half minutes until Kiku let himself in, so Alfred put a kettle on the stove for Kiku’s morning tea – the stash took up significant cabinet space, since Kiku did most of the grocery shopping.

Kiku was dressed formally, crisply, in flowing blue robes. His silver bracelet indicated his status as a live-in companion, and he carried a grocery bag containing various leafy greens – spinach and arugula and collard greens. Victory still swelled through the streets outside, but today was just another day on the job.  Alfred felt a strange relief at that, being joyful for hours on end was a more taxing experience then it used to be.

“I uh, put some water on for tea,” Alfred began, gesturing for Kiku to come in. Kiku slid off his shoes at the door and smiled. Matthew had made some comment once, that before meeting Kiku Alfred wouldn’t have at all thought to do that, that there would be a stale pot of coffee on the stove for his guests, if he even remembered to offer it to him. Matthew took it as proof that Kiku was a good influence – Alfred wondered at why he’d never thought to be thoughtful before. “How was your brother’s house?”

“Good,” Kiku replied, making himself at home in the apartment he lived in. “He offered to cook you something, but in the end we figured it would be too much hassle. I think he’s growing fond of you.”

“Really? I still think I owe him some money – from the time we all went to the opera, and I fell asleep halfway through.”

“You fell asleep on him, you mean?”

Alfred blushed. Kiku’s brother, Yao, loved the opera – he’d been dreaming of taking Kiku ever since the two of them had begun to rekindle their relationship after what Alfred understood was a pretty nasty falling out. Alfred had been roped along into going because his own family was busy and spending hours alone in a silent apartment wasn’t something he could’ve handled at the time.

Kiku handed Alfred some of the vegetables and a small, sharp knife. There wasn’t anything much sharper than a butter knife in the whole apartment, but Alfred barely did anything more strenuous than chop vegetables, so he didn’t mind too much. At least Kiku let him help with various household tasks, not like the first few helpers he’d lived with.

Helper one was jittery and thought that suppressor cuffs were an unneeded solution to a psychosomatic problem. Within a week of settling in to Alfred’s apartment, he’d told him to experiment with removing the cuffs at night. The first few days were alright, but a particularly dark cloudy night brought Alfred’s subconscious back to being chained up in a dungeon, deprived of food and sleep, howling demons sliding warm iron in and out of him until he’d bled and begged for the end. In his panicked waking, he’d managed to release a wave of unstable magic that blackened his own hands, blazed a flaming red mark across his caretaker’s bare chest, and destroyed half of his bedroom wall.

Two and three just didn’t click. Alfred was too moody, too damaged, more than they had bargained for.

Four had his _rules_. Bed by ten at night, wake up at eight in the morning. No violent videos, only one hour of television a day. Alfred retaliated by being plagued with nightmares that kept him up all night and in bed all day. By freezing solid as they passed screens showing wartime violence, unable to look away. By trying to push him away when he’d check the pulse at Alfred’s neck.

When Kiku came through, he wrote down a list of the things that Alfred wasn’t allowed to do. These videos should be avoided at all costs, if he asks for a burger, make him a salad (greens are good for the mind). He’s moody and difficult, so he’ll need a strict schedule to follow and someone to take orders from.

Kiku had gone out to buy supplies for the week and brought back every single video Alfred’s caretaker had told him to avoid. He made Alfred a hamburger for dinner, though he used poultry instead of beef and mixed in vegetables to the patty. That night, after a particularly horrible nightmare, he let Kiku sit beside him and hold his hands instead of scratching up and down his arms out of a self-destructive spite that no one would _listen_.

“I need a suit,” Alfred mumbled over a plateful of eggs and spinach. “There’s some big ceremony today and I need to look okay. Normal.”

Kiku dabbed at the corner of his lip, swallowed delicately. “Don’t you have an old suit in the back of your closet?”

Some relic of pre-battle balls and events. Alfred hadn’t put in on since before he had been taken. “I guess, it’s kind of old.”

Kiku immediately picked up on Alfred’s concern. “Do you want to call Matthew and ask if he has something he could lend?”

Alfred pursed his lips, pondering. He’d almost certainly have something nice, new, for Alfred to borrow. Something that didn’t remind him of giddy dancing and a happiness he hadn’t felt since before. The thought of relying on Matthew to look presentable in public, though, weighed on him – he couldn’t be that much of a burden to his brother.

The day flowed on, pushing and pulling Alfred like a river. Kiku had taught him to see time passing like that. The pull to write, the push from sleep. Not drowning in fearful memories but rather letting them pass like rippling white swirls around a stone, lapping at him but never overwhelming.

Ivan’s hands were on him, push, Kiku brushing wet strands of hair from his forehead as he sweat and sobbed through another restless, long-ago night, pull. Pick up a book because he’s drawn to reading, put it down after a few pages because jitters made it difficult to read.

Alfred pulled on his old white suit, loose on him now that he’d lost much of the muscle and magic that filled out the fabric before. His cufflinks were tarnished and he scrubbed away any blackened edges, scrubbed away any remaining nerves about Ivan’s location. He didn’t mind the looseness of the fabric – tight clothing that showed off his figure was constricting and claustrophobic, and loose sleeves hid his disabilities more.  

There was an old photo, somewhere in a box under his bed, of him and Matthew and Arthur and Francis. He was filled out and handsome, the fabric straining against his bunched, bulging muscles as he stretched his arms around his brother and older mentors. He was fresh from training, healthy and full, and his eyes were gleaming blue, hungry and eager and full of fire. That was a few days before he moved out to the front – a few months before his capture.

Alfred couldn’t remember who exactly his arm was around – was Matthew on his left or right? Or was he shyly at the end as Arthur and Francis snuck in next to his brother? He’d been handsome then, in a half-relationship with Arthur – it never evolved into anything more serious than half-lidded eye contact in the dim light of conference rooms, jittery touches lingering for longer than they should’ve, but he remembered the looks people gave him as  his body stretched taught during training.  

Kiku didn’t really give him rules. The most forceful thing he had were his “strong suggestions for a peaceful day,” but limiting the amount of old photos of himself he kept lying around the house was one of them. _It’s important to focus on forward progress, not going back_ , he’d explained once. Alfred didn’t really get why he needed to say that. Obviously he wanted to keep pushing forward in his progress – the first little bit after his return to the city was a haze of terror and depression and everything bad he’d ever felt in his life. Everything else Kiku did worked, though, so Alfred didn’t really feel the need to comment on one unneeded bit of advice.

Two hours before the ceremony, Alfred and Kiku arrived at the imperial plaza. Matthew was there, waiting, nervous and on edge. He clearly hadn’t slept much last night. Alfred empathized.

“Al,” Matthew rushed forward as he saw him, lifting his arm up in a jerky wave. “I need to walk you through what’s going to happen. I don’t want there to be any surprises, okay?”

Alfred and Kiku began to walk forward, but were halted in their steps by a guard. “He’s not allowed further than this,” the guard growled, jerking his head in Kiku’s direction. “Only people on my list.”

An uncomfortable silence washed over Alfred – he wanted Kiku there with him, but to explain why would be to explain Kiku’s role as his healthcare companion – therapist babysitters, he’d heard them called sometimes. A grumpy-looking guard was the kind of person Alfred could see using that around his buddies when he was off duty.

Kiku was looking at him, and Matthew looked about ready to exert some government influence to let Kiku pass, but Alfred sighed and smiled ruefully in Kiku’s direction. “It’s no big deal, I’ll see you after, alright?”

Matthew grabbed his arm and pulled him along. Alfred noticed crowds of people swelling in the plaza and gulped as Matthew explained what would happen. After the first time someone had attempted to present him with a metal he appreciated the warning – he had felt a heavy presence behind him and someone reaching to put something around his neck and flinched so violently he fell out of his seat. When he came back to himself, everyone was looking at him, and he had gulped down his shame as the ceremony continued, crackling with the tension he’d created.

“…Okay, then after the secretary of defense sits back down, the president himself is going to come through. Arthur’s going to get a medal pinned to him, but since you and I are civilians, it’ll be more like a necklace. The president said he would be putting it on from the front, so you can look at him while he does, but just to warn you–

Matthew’s voice faded into the background as Alfred set his eyes on a slim, polished figure in the distance, chatting with what looked like another general. His eyes were a hard, chipped green, made even more intense by his thick dark eyebrows. He’d always looked angry, but the dark circles under his eyes were new and Alfred realized how long it had truly been since he’d seen Arthur Kirkland.

Before, he would have leapt forward, cutting off whatever conversation Arthur had been having to pull him into a crushing embrace, but Alfred couldn’t bring conjure the energy to do that this time, and his magical instability put any erratic movements under intense scrutiny – they might think he was having some kind of episode. He also was at a loss for what to say – the usual easy small talk he and Arthur had didn’t come as naturally. They hadn’t left each other on _bad_ terms exactly, but there had been nothing good about Alfred’s mental state when Arthur had headed back to the front, and they had barely spoken since.

Arthur laughed, lightly. A short bark, head tossed back and eyes closed. His eyes flitted in Alfred’s direction when they opened again, and he stopped, flushing. He placed his hand on the general’s arm, giving him a quick goodbye, before walking over.

It felt like slow motion. Alfred picked at the hem of his sleeves self-consciously, brushed his hair out of his eyes, nodded briefly at Matthew, who had noticed Arthur’s approach.

Arthur swept forward, heels clicking, metals jangling like a proper imperial soldier. His presence was overwhelming – had it always been? People had commented on the force of personality the two of them had together. When they were in a room, their presence affected everyone around them, two shining lights fighting over who was brighter. Now, Alfred felt diminished, a flickering candle next to a roaring flame.

When Arthur got to Alfred, he pulled him into his arms, and Alfred wrapped himself in the familiar figure. He smelled the same, like ink and sweat, and his arms were still lean and solid. “Alfred,” Arthur breathed, breath hot in his ear. “It’s so good to see you.”

Alfred buried his face in Arthur’s shoulder, holding him as tightly as he could. “Right back atcha,” he said, going for the easy, the familiar.

Arthur snorted, smacking him lightly on the arm. “Tactful as ever. Well, how have you been?” He took a step back, holding Alfred at arm’s length. “Let me take a look at you.”

_Please don’t_ , Alfred thought, clothing suddenly feeling very loose, but he smiled just the same and tried not to squirm. “I’ve been good. Glad to be back?”

“Yes,” Arthur exclaimed, placing his hand to his temples, “Dear _god_ yes. The idiocy I put up with from my men, I swear-”

It was easy, then, to slip back into their old patterns. Arthur complaining, Alfred teasing, Matthew mediating gently.

They were escorted onto a makeshift stage in the center of the plaza. Local bands and groups had been using it throughout the day for performances, music, and celebration. A group of poets who had just been performing looked, teary-eyed in his direction as he and the other wartime heroes made their entrance.

Alfred used to love being on display – preening and peacocking and soaking up the spotlight. Now, being in focus frightened him. It hadn’t been friendly faces who wanted a look at him before, and even fully clothed and covered, he felt the weight of silver jewelry on his arms and across his naked back, the iron chain around his neck, hungry eyes drawn across his plump lips, waiting for him to be alone.

After the ceremony, they agreed on going out to dinner – a special reunion. Places were bound to be packed, but Arthur grinned and told Alfred not to worry, he could easily find a reservation for three.

“Oh, uh, four,” Alfred corrected, scanning the assembled crowd absentmindedly. “Kiku’s here too, they just wouldn’t let him back.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, surprise clear on his face. “Oh! I didn’t realize he still, that you both still – well, the more the merrier, I say.”

It took Alfred a moment to understand the confusion, and then it clicked – Arthur hadn’t realized Kiku still lived with him. He didn’t realize he still needed him. Shame colored his cheeks pink and he rotated his cuffs reflexively, unsure of what to say. He never knew what to say anymore.

Arthur seemed to pick up on Alfred’s embarrassment and rushed to mollify him. “Oh, no no, it’s quite alright – I’ll definitely find a place for him, too. I just didn’t realize, not to worry. I’ll take care of it.”

The __I’ll take care of you, because you still need it_ _ hung in the air, or maybe that was Alfred’s imagination.

* * *

 

The days following victory were sluggish, like cold molasses. Alfred felt stuck. He wanted to laugh at Arthur’s stupid jokes or smile with Matthew’s newfound business; he wanted to stop waking up, aching inside for something he couldn’t quite place.

_He was upside down, head pounding as the blood rushed to it. His throat ached, his mouth ached, he-_

He chop, chop, chopped vegetables for breakfast, refilled the coffee pot, searched for jobs that could accommodate his increasingly diminished skillset and inability to maintain good hours. He’d thought long ago that he might work as an engineer, but his lack of magical ability made that a near impossibility.

“You’ll get through this,” Kiku reminded him. “You adjusted to life after your ordeal, you can adjust to life in a peacetime nation.”

Kiku was right. Alfred would learn to live with the peace and the possibility of Ivan never appearing, just like he had everything else.

He and Kiku played video games and Kiku beat him almost every time, but that was normal.

The doorbell rang one morning as Alfred pored over bowl of soup and the question of what to do now that the main source of trouble in his life was essentially over. Kiku was in the shower, so it was likely just a door to door salesperson. Alfred was ready to ignore it, but the bell rang again – hopefully it wasn’t a persistent reporter. He’d needed to shoo more than one of those away since the ceremony and his return to public consciousness.

Francis stood in the doorway when Alfred opened it. The only descriptor that popped into Alfred’s mind was _regal_ – his hair was silky and golden, crowning his head. His coat was a thick, velveteen blue, swirling around his legs. Alfred was breathless, blushing down to his toes in his old pajamas and bare feet.

“Alfred,” Francis purred, reaching a calloused hand out to touch his face. The callouses made his hands rougher but no less royal. A noble who deigned to spend time with the average folk.

“Y-yeah?” Alfred squeaked, caught unaware at the surprise visit. Francis held out a thick stack of paper, official wartime documents, classified information.

“I wanted you to be the first to know.”

Alfred gulped and took the paper. Immediately, the text hit him like a jackhammer. _Ivan Braginsky located. Transportation to federal facility underway._

“Alfred,” Francis smiled, and Alfred wished he knew why his stomach was sinking, “We got him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only six months later lmao. I knew I needed to post this, otherwise who knows how long it'd be till the next chapter got posted. Sorry it's a bit short! I've been working through some amazingly awful writers block for the past... Few years. Let me know if you have comments or constructive criticism, and thanks for reading!

It was strange. Alfred felt like he was swimming through fog – the next morning dawned like a hangover, churning his stomach and making his head pound. Headlights could be approaching and he was reaching out blindly, trying not to get hit.

An embarrassed flush crept up his neck as he remembered how he’d acted at the news. He was supposed to be _better_. His knees had given out and he’d buckled, and Francis had caught him before he hit the floor. He remembered gasping for air as Francis arms, muscled and strong even through his military jacket, wrapped around him and lifted him back up like he was a doll. He clung to Francis, shaking, while Francis wrapped him in protective, soothing murmurs.

Kiku had been in the show, and when he came out, Alfred was shaking over a cup of hot chocolate, letting Francis stroke his hair as he asked nervous questions. _How did you find him?_ _Where was he?_

_Were there any others, like me?_

From what he gathered, incidents (Francis’ phrasing, not his) like what happened to him were rare, but not unheard of. Not systematic. Alfred wasn’t sure if that was the answer he wanted – on the one hand, it was good that the enemy wasn’t systematically raping and torturing their prisoners. On the other, Alfred felt a sting at how unlucky he had been, how alone he still was.

Then, Francis said the word _trial_.

Alfred had been given a trial of sorts, a rowdy, chaotic mess by the foot soldiers that captured him. A mockery of justice, an attempt to dehumanize him and justify what they were about to do – before Ivan, before. He shuddered and closed his eyes.

“Alfred, we were hoping you could testify,” Francis said, voice teetering on confusion. This was not how he had expected this conversation to go.

_I don’t want to,_ Alfred thought, petulantly. He didn’t want to see Ivan again. What would happen when he did? He still had nightmares about his cold eyes, his hands, touching every inch of him. No control. “Are there other people who can?”

Francis’ confusion was clear now. Alfred wanted to throw up.

“Alfred,” Francis cajoled, “It’s a guaranteed sentencing. There’s no way for you to lose. We’ll all be right behind you, every step of the way.”

Alfred felt _weak_. There was a throbbing, hurt part of him that didn’t want to do this. That wanted to curl up into a ball and die.

Didn’t he want justice, though? When he was younger, before everything, he’d always been the one standing up to schoolyard bullies, to bullies at his jobs before he joined the army. Now, what was he?

Kiku hadn’t said anything, but Alfred knew he was monitoring the situation closely. Alfred cared about what Francis thought of him – they weren’t doing it on purpose, but every time Matthew or Arthur or Francis were confused at his inability to do what was asked, he felt himself shrinking.

He’d never asked the people he’d defended if they’d wanted it. He’d never needed to be defended.

Francis was waiting. His eyes were a sparkling blue - Alfred was overwhelmed with his presence, his appearance. Francis had gone to Alfred before anyone else, because he cared about putting the man who hurt him away for…

Forever, maybe.

“Alright, okay,” Alfred replied, after a long, lingering silence. “I can do it. I can face him.”

Francis grinned, wide, and clapped him on the back. “ _Magnifique_ , mon cher. Let’s discuss, there’s an official army lawyer who will be handling your case, we can set up a time to meet.”

Alfred was drowning. There was so much information, so much to do before the trial. His mind whirled as he took in sips of information among the wave of tasks and meetings. When he was there, in the prison, he remembered thirst clawing at his throat, trying to drink bits of the brutal stream they were washing away the blood and sweat and come with.

The fear of seeing Ivan again wasn’t the only thing holding Alfred back. There were parts Alfred hadn’t, couldn’t tell anyone, not because they were too painful but because the shame of them wrapped around his neck and pulled tight.

They planned. Or, Francis planned, asked a quick “is that okay?” then moved on before Alfred had time to nod. After hours and only one breakdown, Francis stood crisply, patted Alfred on the head, and turned to go.

“Hey!” Alfred called, his fog clearing as Francis walked away. “Hey, do you want to stay for dinner? I haven’t seen you since…” _Since the hospital._ He stopped, cleared his throat. “For a long time.”

Francis smiled sadly, papers clutched in his hands. “I’m sorry, Alfred – I have a meeting in a few hours. I need to prepare for it. I’ll see you at the first trial prep meeting, though, alright?”

Alfred tried to hide his disappointment. It clearly failed, and Francis paused, put down his briefcase, and pulled Alfred into a hug.

“Alfred,” Francis murmured into Alfred’s hair, “I miss your smile. I miss you. I want to do this for you – so you get the closure you need.”

Alfred nodded, the lump in his throat thick and choking.

And with that, Francis left, his cologne lingering on Alfred’s skin.

And with that, Alfred was left with the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind in all his discussions with Kiku, in his day to day life: What did he want? He wanted to be better, of course – but how did he get from here to there? _Better_ was a destination he had long ago lost the map to, and sometimes it seemed like it was more effort than it was worth to try to find it again, so what did he _want_?

* * *

 

Kiku had kept careful track of what Francis had said, condensed it and cut it into little bits that he could spoon-feed to Alfred. There were calendars to fill in and alarms to set. This was _good_ , it was a _task_. It was something other than his usual aimlessness and half-hearted attempts to find a job.

Normally, his schedule looked something like this:

  1. Get up.
  2. Cook breakfast.
  3. Check local part-time listings, filtering for “magic required.” Give up after a few minutes – it was hard to find anything too well-paid without magic these days, and after being a wartime general, Alfred had a hard time suiting himself to menial labor and unskilled positions.
  4. Mid-day meditation and/or panic session, depending on the way his moods were swinging that day.
  5. Watch re-runs of bad reality TV, or shows barely hiding their purpose as wartime propaganda – snarling, fanged demons with black leather wings carrying off delicate angels, until a hero came through to defeat them with white wings and flaming sword. Alfred had _lived_ off of stuff like that when he was a kid – even when they weren’t at war, the demons were perennial media favorites for villains.
  6. Dinner. He’d needed Kiku to remind him to eat less and less – progress.



If it was a particularly exciting day, he might even go to a vet’s therapy session, where he would talk to someone other than Kiku for a change. See what the other guys were up to – they had positions in their local libraries, positions as secretaries, cashiers. He knew he’d need a job eventually. Matthew’s generosity couldn’t last forever. Alfred could feel the nagging frustration from his family that he wasn’t starting to pick himself back up again, after so long.

In some ways, it was nice to be occupied and to _plan_. In other ways, what they were planning wasn’t so different from the dark places his waking mind would wander towards in his restlessness. The push-pull philosophy wasn’t very effective if the pull was deliberate, and Kiku seemed more concerned than ever about the thought of Alfred going to trial.

“I’m concerned about how the trial process will affect your progress,” Kiku murmured to him once Alfred had digested exactly what needed to be done.

_What progress_ , Alfred thought. “It’ll be fine. Won’t seeing this guy behind bars help?”

Kiku nodded hesitantly, biting his lip in worry. “I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred knew he’d have to make a statement, and he knew that that statement would entail describing in detail every single thing Ivan had done to him. There was more than one part of that which scared him – no one in his family, no one save Kiku, had any idea of the _details_ , and now they were going to go on public display for a trial that he knew would reach the far reaches of angelic dominion.

Kiku assured him that everything was clear-cut, that what Ivan did to him was rape, clear and simple, but Alfred still wasn’t sure everyone would see it that way, if they knew.

They were meeting two brothers, the younger his lawyer, the older responsible for… Alfred wasn’t entirely sure. Francis knew him personally, which meant he must be powerful. It was supposed to be casual, but Alfred wore something especially white and flowing, trying to make himself more put-together than he felt. He wasn’t going to see _Francis_ and his associates dressed the way he was when Francis broke the news about Ivan.

The office was shimmering, pristine, with gold lettering spelling out _Bielschmidt’s Attorneys at Law_ against the facade.

Alfred and Kiku waited briefly in the lobby, making stilted conversation with a chatty, dark-haired receptionist, before being ushered down a short hallway. Voices floated from one of the rooms at the end of the hall – apparently, the room he was supposed to be walking towards – and they sounded _angry_.

“Out of the question,” Francis, Alfred recognized, was snarling. “You can’t be seriously considering this, Gil.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Someone, Gil, apparently, was saying, “but we need to let him know-”

“He doesn’t want to know, who knows what even seeing his face is going to do to him.”

“Alfred’s going to need to see him at the trial, Francis.”

“Yes, but-”

The receptionist knocked on the door, cracked it open. “Ve, Alfred is here!” he called into the room.  A tendril of white light slipped out of the crack, and Alfred winced at the brightness.

The conversation screeched to a halt.

Francis looked no less stunning than the last time Alfred saw him, and he fought to hide the blush rising in his cheeks. Maybe it was just because he’d lost so much of his own angelic intimidation, but he was noticing more and more how beautiful and bold and _powerful_ his former equals, Francis and Arthur, were.

“Alfred,” one of the unfamiliar men in the room extended a hand, “My name is Ludwig Bielschmidt. I’ll be representing you, as well as many of the other victims in the case against Ivan Braginsky. It’s very likely we’ll get a conviction, considering the extent of his abuse, but we’ll still need your help to construct the most airtight case possible.”

Alfred turned to Kiku, who nodded encouragingly. “Oh uh, yeah. Sure.”

Ludwig started as he noticed Kiku for the first time. He turned to Francis, who shrugged, saying _I didn’t know there would be a plus-one either_ with his body language. Alfred’s blush grew redder, this time from shame.

“I don’t mean to be blunt, but this is a quite high profile case – I don’t like surprises, and I do need to make sure no information gets over to the defense. Who is this, and can we trust him?”

“Yeah, uh, sure,” Alfred stumbled over his words, “I gotcha. Uh, Kiku’s my. My, uh… He works for me. As a like, nurse type thing. He’s chill, don’t worry.”

Ludwig nodded, convinced. “Alright. I’ll let my brother introduce himself, then we can get started.”

Ludwig’s brother, Gil, most likely, was slightly taller than Ludwig, skinny and severe with white-blonde hair and flinty red eyes. He took Alfred’s hand and shook it. “Good to meet you, kid. I’ll be working with Ludwig on your case.” His serious face seemed to get even more serious and he went on, “I used to be in the war, I’ve seen some shit – we’ll put this bastard away, six feet under if we have to. Promise.”

Alfred nodded. The thought of the testimony, of bearing his broken soul to so many people, was frightening, but Alfred was calmed by his two lawyers. They seemed nice enough.

Alfred sat down in a comfortable, cushy, lined chair with gilded edges. It rolled, for ease of access, and he got an unreasonable amount of joy in sliding forward, back, and along the table to see the various documents set out in front of him.

“We won’t start taking your statement today,” Ludwig explained, and Alfred felt a twinge of relief. “Now, in a criminal trial, a judge would need to hear your complaint and decide whether or not to indict. Since Braginsky has committed crimes against the state, it’s the state which has levied the charges against him, and you are one of the key witnesses providing evidence to those crimes.”

_Key witness._ Alfred gulped.

Ludwig continued on, “We aren’t clear on the strategy the defense has, but we can bet it’s going to be nasty. They know they have their work cut out for them.”

That was not at all a comfort. Regret at his choice to do this seeped through his veneer of calm and he shivered slightly in his seat.

“We _will_ be successful,” Gilbert chimed in from Ludwig’s side. Francis placed his hand on Alfred’s shoulder. It was calming, soothing, and Alfred let the warm heat of it radiate into him and relax him. He needed to trust them, trust this to give him some kind of closure.

Ludwig nodded, serious.

Alfred opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again and asked, “What were you talking about before I came in?”

No one answered. Ludwig, Gilbert, and Francis exchanged nervous glances.

“It’s not… It’s not necessarily something you need to know to go on with the case,” Francis tried, ruffling the back of his own head nervously.

Alfred grew frustrated. They were hiding something from him, why? “I – Are you keeping it from me because you think I can’t handle it?” He meant to sound accusing, confident, but instead the words tumbled out like those of a petulant child.

“I really think we should tell him, Francis,” Gilbert sighed. “Better through us than through him, or one of his cronies in court.”

Fear spiked through Alfred, unwittingly, and Alfred choked it back down. Were they talking about…?

Francis bit his lip in concern, then patted Alfred on the head softly and nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

Alfred blushed into the tips of Francis’ fingers on the top of his head. “Tell me what?”

“Ivan wants to see you,” Francis said. “He’s been asking to speak to you, alone, ever since he was transported here.”

He’d been half-expecting that it had something to do with Ivan, but the answer still punched Alfred in the gut, and he took a minute to calm down before responding simply, “Oh.”

“We won’t let that happen,” Gilbert was saying, “It’s a bad idea, right before a trial anyway.”

“We’ll keep him away from you,” Francis was continuing.

_We’ll keep you from doing something stupid_ , Alfred was hearing. Irrational anger flared up in him. Why wasn’t anyone considering what he wanted, why didn’t they ask? Not that he wanted to see Ivan – his face popped up enough in Alfred’s nightmares that he didn’t want to seek it out in the daylight.

Why did Ivan want to see him? Was he seeking remorse, a deal? If so, Alfred couldn’t grant him that – maybe at one point he had the sway to influence a judge, but two cuffs around his wrist, one permanent healthcare companion, and an honorable discharge due to magical instability wiped that dream away.

There was a knock at the door, and Ludwig opened it to reveal Arthur and Matthew.

“Sorry,” Matthew was spluttering, “We’re so late, the campaign meeting went a lot longer than I thought.”

Ah, right. Matthew as up for re-election. He was expected to win – the incumbent in a victorious country was a fairly secure position. Alfred wondered sometimes if he should ask Matthew to work on his campaign, but Matthew already did so much in paying for his apartment, he couldn’t bear to be more dependent than he already was.

Alfred smiled, softly. “It’s cool. I’m mostly just getting caught up.”

The meeting continued for a while longer, the dark cloud of Ivan hovering over like an oncoming rainstorm. _Why does he want to see me?_ Alfred couldn’t stop the thought from crackling, rumbling above him.

It was clear that his brother, Arthur, and Francis had come with the intention of moral support – which he mostly didn’t need for this meeting. By the end of it, Matthew was flipping through campaign notes, Francis was yawning, and Arthur was sitting stock-still, pretending to listen intently. Kiku hadn’t said a word, but Alfred knew he was soaking in every sip of information.

It ended, eventually, and Alfred realized he hadn’t absorbed a bit of information after hearing the news about Ivan. He didn’t even know what time it was, how much had passed – Kiku would probably want to know about that, but somehow the thought of telling him was irritating. It nagged at him like a gnat he wanted to swipe away.

Francis and Matthew needed to work, so Arthur walked Alfred back to his apartment. Kiku trailed behind them, and Alfred found himself frustrated at that, as well. He was like a shadow, a constant reminder of Alfred’s condition.

Arthur stopped outside the building and turned to Alfred – Alfred’s heart pounded in his chest as those sharp green eyes pierced him. _We had something, once_ , Alfred thought.

The last time Arthur had seen him, Alfred had been a mess. That was pre-Kiku, pre-starting to heal, just a violent, hot rage and terror that consumed him in every waking moment. Now, Arthur didn’t look at him with the soft, sultry gaze Alfred remembered, reserved just for him - when they weren’t bickering, of course.

Now, Arthur looked curious, a little cautious, like Alfred’s calm could dissipate at any moment and he’d light something, or himself, on fire again in some petulant display of his anger.

“I–” Arthur began, “How… Ehm. Kiku, could you give us a few moments?”

Kiku looked at Alfred for his approval. Normally, Alfred liked that Kiku wanted his opinion on everything – now it pricked at him. He nodded, barely looking in Kiku’s direction, and Kiku slipped away silently.

“How – how are you, Alfred?” Arthur asked, a slight edge in his voice the only indication he was uncomfortable.

“I’m okay,” Alfred replied. “How are you?”

Arthur paused, huffed out a breath. “I’m good. You know, outside of my idiot men, unable to wipe their own arses without instruction, but they’re all being shipped home as we speak.”

Alfred cracked a grin. “Still whining about your men, old man?”

Arthur spluttered, “Old man! You brat, you try taking charge of these blustering, bumbling – no, _shit,_ I’m getting distracted.” He took a deep breath and rubbed his temples, irritated. “Alfred… I wanted to talk to you about something. I know you may think this isn’t the best time, but I think later will be even worse.”

Alfred bit his lip. This was going somewhere, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. But why didn’t he like it? “Yeah?” He mumbled, not meeting Arthur’s eye.

“We used to be together,” Arthur said, flatly. “In a sense. I miss you, Alfred, and I just wanted to know…”

Alfred’s sigh echoed with the rustling of the trees. He was cold – he’d forgotten the jacket he always carried around, just in case.

_“Alfred, love, do you want to…” Arthur was murmuring against his neck, behind his ear. They were lying in bed and Alfred was squirming with how much he loved it, but how much he_ couldn’t _. Arthur’s hand was inching higher along his thigh, and Alfred knew what he was asking even if Arthur couldn’t say it._

_“We can’t,” Alfred sighed, “You know the rules.”_

_Alfred had been young and naïve and hadn’t known that most of the officers were screwing around in their tents and barracks. He didn’t know not long after being shipped out to the front, not for the first time, he’d be given faulty intel and lead his men into an ambush._

_He didn’t know_.

Arthur had been waiting for him to realize the stupid purity rules were all a joke, that no one followed them. Instead, he learned it from Ivan.

“I don’t know,” Alfred said, honestly. He didn’t know anything much, anymore. “I don’t think… Do you really think that’s a good idea? With me? Arthur, I’m kind of…”

Kind of fucked up, hung in the air.

Arthur didn’t immediately answer. “I still like you,” he said, slowly. “I know it’ll be different, but I want you to be happy, and if you think this’ll help, we can work it out.”

Alfred nodded, heart pounding. Was it happiness? Fear? He couldn’t tell, he could never tell. “I can’t give you a solid answer, Artie, I’m sorry. I’m not there yet. I’m sorry I’m not there yet.”

If Arthur was disappointed, he didn’t show it, though Alfred was sure he was. He looked contemplative for a moment, leaned in, slightly, and asked, “Do you think you would be able to kiss me?”

They’d done this a million times before. Did he want a kiss? Did he want Arthur to go away? Thoughts raced through his head, and Arthur paused, pulled back. That was a no, and he wasn’t going to try any further.

It wasn’t like they’d ever broken up. Alfred disappeared, captured, and Arthur diverted resources and arms and _time_ to finding him. They didn’t break up in the hospital, Arthur never told him _I can’t deal with you now_ , no matter how destructive and self-destructive he became.

Then Arthur had to leave him, and Alfred had begged him to stay, and Arthur had cried as he shouted “I can’t Al, I can’t stay here,” and Alfred wasn’t sure whether it was work or fear dragging him away. Alfred had never seen Arthur cry before – though he apparently did pretty often, and there was something so final about the gasping breaths Arthur gave before he closed the hospital room door behind him. It was never _over_ though, there was no end, just Arthur crying and Alfred crying and something knife-sharp cutting Arthur away from him.

“I’ll see you at the next meeting, alright, Al?” Arthur questioned. “And I can wait. I’ll wait until your back to your old self, don’t worry.”

Alfred forced out a nod, and Arthur headed out. He’d wanted to ask Arthur to stay. Why didn’t he ask? Would he like a kiss? Was he afraid of a kiss? What did he _want?_

Alfred didn’t know.

He _didn’t know_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added a new tag! Please make sure you check that out before you read this chapter.

“Kiku?” Alfred asked, trying to be nonchalant over a cup of coffee a few mornings later.

“Mm?” Kiku looked up from his green tea, which he had been savoring.

“Uh, what do you think about, you know, Ivan wanting to see me?”

Kiku paused, pointedly put down his cup of tea. “I think his intentions can’t be good,” he said, after a moment of mulling it over. “And I’m worried about what he would do or say to you if you go see him on his terms. Your progress is the most important thing here, and-”

Alfred pouted, tuning him out and muttering “What progress?” under his breath.

That cut Kiku off, and he gave Alfred a sympathetic look that only managed to irritate him further. “Alfred, we’ve talked about this – you’ve overcome so much to get to this point, it only _seems_ like you’re not progressing because-”

“Because _the steps towards progress are smaller_ ,” Alfred echoed, annoyance seeping into his voice. “You’ve said that before.”

Kiku’s eyebrows raised in surprise at Alfred’s tone, and Alfred felt immediately guilty.

“Sorry,” he sighed, “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

That was true. He couldn’t remember the dream that woke him up, but he’d had trouble going back to sleep after, had trouble calming the tremors from his body and the deep purple from behind his eyelids. Was that really what _progress_ looked like?

Kiku looked pensive, but didn’t say anything other than, “It’s… It’s alright.”

There was something Kiku wasn’t saying. Anger flashed through Alfred. Why didn’t anyone trust him? Why didn’t they think he could handle what they were thinking?

“I’m gonna go read for a bit,” Alfred said, trying to draw the anger from him, and he pushed himself up from the table stiffly, coffee cup still half-full.  

The anger dissipated once he was back in the coolness of his own room. Why had he acted like that? Kiku was just trying to help.

It was Ivan. Knowing he was so close, knowing it was just a matter of time before they’d see each other – it ate at him.

_Why did Ivan want to see him?_

Would it help to face him once before the trial proper? No one else seemed to think so, but then, no one wanted Alfred to know what they were really thinking.

Kiku was worried it would affect his _progress_ , but no matter what he said, Alfred didn’t know what, if any, progress had been made.

Was it too much of a risk? Would it hurt his case for the trial?

If it was a guaranteed sentencing, like the Bielschmidts had said, this shouldn’t matter.

Should it?

Curiosity got the better of him. Stagnation in what should have been upward progress made him desperate, impulsive, more likely to do something drastic to break out of its fog.

Ivan was difficult to find. Alfred couldn’t ask his family about his location for fear of being hounded by well-meaning, unwanted questions, but some digging and a quick phone call where he pretended to be Matthew got him the information he needed. He scheduled a meeting with the warden, took a deep breath, and steeled himself for what was to come.

* * *

The night before had been another bad night. Alfred woke up with the sky outside still black, heart pounding, only a faint howl of laughter and a twinge in his spine left of the dream that caused cold sweat to drip down the white scar on his head.

Ivan wasn’t in any normal prison – he was in an old warehouse outside of the city, converted and updated with the most state of the art security measures, housed with some of the worst generals in the demon army. All awaited trial, some together, for varying levels of crime and lengths of punishment.

The guards checked his pockets, put him through a series of detectors to make sure he wasn’t up to no good. They checked the cuffs around his wrist at least three different ways to make sure they were up to standard.

“We make all visitors wear our own version of these,” One guard explained. “But since you already have ‘em…”

Alfred half-hoped they’d find some reason not to admit him. His heart was pounding, his palms sweating, his stomach churning – every breath was painful as he desperately tried to relax. Ivan was behind bars, he couldn’t hurt him, this wasn’t on his terms.

_Isn’t it, though?_ A voice in the back of his mind teased, nastily. _He wanted this. You’re still doing what he wants, Alfred._

Maybe visiting the man who tortured him for months, just to spite his family, had been a bad idea.

“Through here,” the guard said, and Alfred thought about what Ivan would think if he arrived and then left. He would think Alfred was weak, and Alfred _wasn’t weak_.

Alfred had expected some kind of room, or door, before he’d actually see Ivan’s face, so he could mentally prepare. Instead, he was greeted by a chair, a phone, and a wall of glass.

His heart stopped, just for an instant. There Ivan was, looking down at his clasped hands, and at the noise Alfred made as he entered the room, his eyes slid slowly up.

Ivan’s haggard face split into a wide, fanged grin as he saw Alfred, and Alfred felt himself being swallowed up and torn apart by those sharp white teeth.

The guard started walking forward and Alfred stayed stock-still.

_“Ivan, please, I don’t want to do this-”_

_The grin was toothy and wide, teasing. “Don’t be silly! You knew this would happen eventually, I’ll make sure you feel sooo good.”_

_“I didn’t, I didn’t know – I don’t want-”_

_His grip tightened, and suddenly the shining, toothy grin was feral. “Alright, Alfred, this isn’t cute anymore. Now lay back, stop_ squirming-”

“You coming?”

A voice, probably the guard, jolted him out of his memories.

_I want to leave,_ Alfred thought. Instead, his feet carried him forward, echoing like gunfire as they clicked on the hard floor. Ivan’s eyes slid up and down him, the grin never leaving his face, plastered on him like a _Comedy_ mask, a grotesque exaggeration of happiness.

He sat. He picked up the phone. He didn’t say anything, voice stuck in his throat.

_Why do you want to speak to me_ , he tried to say, but all that came out was air. _Why do you want to speak to me_ , he tried again, desperate to know. _Why do you want to speak to me?!_

It wouldn’t come out. He was mute.

Ivan hadn’t stopped grinning since he’d seen Alfred. He raised his palm to the air, giggled, and said into the receiver, “Look! We match.”

That paused the churning in his gut, the ringing in his ears. _What?_

Alfred turned his eyes to Ivan’s raised arm and he noticed something – a light, blue-white bracelet, soft and glowing in the dim light of the room. A suppressor cuff – his eyes flitted involuntarily downward to his own.

_Look! We match._

Anger surged through him. _Do you think this is a joke, a fun accessory?_ He wanted to scream. _Look at what you did to me! Look at me,_ look at me _!_

“Why did you want to speak to me?” Alfred forced the words through the fear-blockage in his throat.

Ivan’s smile faded, slightly. “Ah, you wish to skip the pleasantries, after we’ve been apart so long?”

Alfred’s fist, clenched around the receiver, turned white with the force of his grip. “Why did you want to speak to me?” He said again, because his mind was short-circuiting and he couldn’t form new thoughts, new words.

Ivan’s smile disappeared completely and Alfred started to shake – he plastered a new one on, though, with the same feral control he used to terrify Alfred into being _still_ , turning _over_. “Ah, alright. You may have heard there’s a nasty business about a _trial.”_

He paused, waiting for Alfred’s acknowledgement. Alfred didn’t give it, so Ivan continued on, “After everything I did for you while you were under my care, I wanted to know if you could do me the _teensiest_ little favor, put in a good word for me – maybe even during the trial? You remember how I saved you from those awful foot soldiers, don’t you?”

Alfred hadn’t been expecting any particular answer, but this was so far away from the realm of possibility that it was almost absurd, and a bark of horrified laughter came out of Alfred, unbidden. “What?”

Ivan’s expression didn’t change. “I helped you. Now you help me, yes?”

“Ivan,” The name tasted like poison on his tongue, but shock lessened the bile in his throat, “I’m… I’m testifying against you.”

Finally, Ivan’s grin cracked a little, cracked just the same way it did when he was going to hurt Alfred and he wanted him to _know_ , to be _afraid_ before it happened.

Even with thick glass and Ivan’s cuffs and a guard in the room, it took almost all of Alfred’s mental stamina not to break down and beg for mercy right then. _I’m sorry_ , the thought came to him unbidden, though he knew, he _knew_ , it was _Ivan_ that was in the wrong.

“I heard a very nasty rumor that said just that,” Ivan snarled, “I didn’t want to believe it. Not after I pulled you from the _hell_ of a dungeon you were trapped in, fed you and clothed you and - ”

“You raped me,” Alfred spit out, cutting him off. The words slid out with surprising ease, though they sounded like Kiku against the roof of his mouth, not him.

Ivan was silent, apparently struck dumb, but Alfred didn’t let his guard down. He wouldn’t let himself do that with Ivan, not again. Finally, Ivan’s face relaxed into an eerie, serene grin. “Did I?”

The “yes” that Alfred stuttered out afterwards was less easy, less sure, and Alfred knew after he said it that Ivan had latched onto his hesitation.

“Alfred, I know what rape is. I’ve seen it with my men, and when I did, it was swiftly punished. Do you remember what I did to the soldier who was on top of you when I saved you, that day?”

_Splat like a split-open watermelon, warmth of blood on his back, a mangled corpse thrown into a corner as Ivan pulled him away._

Alfred knew he shouldn’t respond, but his head nodded as if hypnotized.

“When you were with me, when we made love, did you bleed?”

Alfred bit his lip. “No,” he said, heart pounding.

“Were you tied up?”

“No, but-”

“Did I hold a weapon to your head and threaten to blow your pathetic brains out if you did not comply?”

Alfred didn’t answer, but the _no_ was written all over his trembling body.

Ivan sat back, smug. “Then why, _why_ do you think-”

“I said no!” Alfred shouted, voice cracking, whole body shaking in fear. “You didn’t stop, and it _doesn’t matter_ that I didn’t bleed, because I _said no_.”

Something dark lingered behind Ivan’s cracked grin. It wanted to hit Alfred, to beat him with the pipe, to lay him back on the bed and use his fear and weakness against him one more time. Rendered powerless by Ivan, how could he stop him? “Is that what you’re going to say when you take the stand?”

Alfred’s throat closed up, and he silently thanked his own rebelling voice for not betraying any information about the case to Ivan.

Ivan continued, “Your little ‘I said no’ against the _fact_ that you were hurt, were beaten and raped by demons without my knowledge, and I saved you. I saved you Alfred, and this is how you-”

Alfred couldn’t listen any more. He stood, knocking the chair clean back and onto the ground before slamming the receiver back down, a sing-song “I’ll see you in court, pet” fading from the other end.

His hand had melted an impression of his fingers into the plastic receiver – the first time in a long time that he had been so emotional, so unstable that even the magic suppressor cuffs on his wrists weren’t enough to stop it from dripping out of him. He looked from it with shame to Ivan’s still grinning face with horror, and tried to hold it together as the guard let him out.

He was shaking, falling to pieces, and he felt his body might shatter with the force of his tremors.

His family was right, Kiku was right, this had been an awful idea.

Outside the complex, Alfred rested against the wall, shaking, bright sunlight streaming onto his face. _I said no_ , he thought to himself. _It doesn’t matter what he says, doesn’t matter that I didn’t bleed and wasn’t tied up and wasn’t threatened with a weapon_. _I said no, I said no, I said-_

Alfred sunk to his knees and threw up.

* * *

 

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?” Matthew shouted at him from across the gilded gold meeting room.

Alfred winced. It was the second meeting with the Bielschmidt brothers, a couple days after his meeting with Ivan. He’d come home to Kiku a shaking, stuttering mess, and Kiku had sat him down and made him tea and assured him again and again that he was right, that Ivan was lying to get under his skin, that he was just trying to scare him before the trial. He said no, that was that.

They’d played video games to take Alfred’s mind off of it, and Alfred had sighed and said, “I’m going to need to tell the others, won’t I?”

The others, Matthew, Francis, Arthur, and his lawyers, hadn’t taken it well.

Alfred was tired, his sleep cycle interrupted by more frequent nightmares that slipped beyond his memories by the time he woke up. “I dunno,” he mumbled, huffing and resting his head in his arms, folded on the desk.

“What did he do to you? What did he say to you? Alfred, why did you think you needed to face him? We have months to prepare for you facing him, and you decide to just waltz up to him to have a friendly chat?”

Alfred didn’t answer, just buried his head further in his folded arms. Trust Matthew to not hold back on a verbal thrashing, even if he was already feeling awful. Arthur and Francis hadn’t said anything, but the force of their disapproving stares was almost as bad.

“I, ah, might suggest,” Kiku piped up, timidly, “We not, ah, focus too much on what happened previously, and instead attempt to move forward, adjusting to this new information.”

Alfred smiled at Kiku weakly before burying his face in his arms again. It was childish, like clapping his hands over his ears and pretending he couldn’t hear whatever bad things were being said, but it was better than facing his red-faced, furious brother.

“Shouldn’t we focus on something that has the potential to _seriously mess up the case_?” Matthew shot back.

That wasn’t fair. “I’m sorry, alright?” Alfred snapped, “I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m an idiot, whatever – but don’t act like I totally fucked up my case on purpose. I want to win more than any of you.”

“Enough,” Ludwig finally spoke up, as Matthew seemed to be about ready to retort. “This is not the end of the world. This is not the end of our case.” He turned to Alfred. “Alfred, talk to us. We need to know why you did this, we need to communicate if we’re going to be a tight-knit team with an air-tight case. Alright?”

Alfred nodded, shame wrapping around him like chains. He wiped away a few tears that had welled up at the corners of his eyes – in the edge of his vision, Matthew bit his lip and looked away guiltily. “I guess… I was annoyed that you didn’t even want to tell me he wanted to see me. That it felt like everyone wanted to choose what I needed to do, because I was somehow too fragile to be trusted with the information. And _yeah_ , it was a stupid idea,” he closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples, “God, it was so stupid. But I just – I don’t know, I thought it might help me, somehow, and I wanted to make my own choice, here.”

Ludwig nodded. “Alright. So, in the future, better transparency, from _all_ of us.”

Gilbert looked pointedly at Francis, who let out a frustrated groan and held up his hands in acceptance. “Alright, alright,” he looked at Alfred, who blushed, though he didn’t quite know why. “I’m sorry, cher, truly I am. I wanted to protect you, but I was clearly going about this the wrong way. You’re not fragile, you’re not a child, and I can’t… I can’t protect you if I keep information from you.”

Alfred nodded, face red. “I won’t go off the wall and ignore your advice. Again.”

Ludwig clapped his hands together. “Good,” he said, with no change in expression, “Good. Now, Alfred, we need to know _exactly_ what you said to him.”

Alfred nodded again, less sure, color draining from his cheeks quickly. Matthew, Francis, and Arthur had no details – just the general knowledge that he had been raped, and brutally, and often. He was sure, then, that they were under the impression that what Ivan did to him was especially brutal, and yes – in a way it was, but not because of the physical harm Ivan caused him.

They were looking at him expectantly. Alfred sighed, grit his teeth, and repeated as much of the conversation as he could remember, as close to verbatim as possible.

It was painful. Matthew looked angry and more than a little bit guilty, Francis and Arthur some combination of horrified and furious. Gilbert and Ludwig were unreadable.

After he finished, Gilbert got him a glass of water, which he took with trembling hands.

“I’m sorry Ivan said those things to you,” Ludwig said, “I do have a bit of good news, though – I think we might’ve identified the defense’s main thread of argument.”

“What’s that?” Alfred questioned, nervous.

“Exactly what Ivan did. Try to downplay the fact that he raped you. Alfred, I won’t let that happen. It doesn’t matter if you weren’t injured, or restrained.”

Alfred let out a sigh of relief. That was exactly what he’d needed to hear, and he sat back in his seat, slightly more relaxed. Something nagged at him, though. Downplay what happened to him? Hearing it from Ivan was bad enough, and his pathetic outburst in the jail already embarrassed him. What if that happened in court, in front of everyone – Arthur and Matthew and Francis. They thought he was pitiful enough without him breaking down in front of them. Worry began to overwhelm him, and he barely caught the next part of what Ludwig was saying.

“Do you have any evidence to connect Ivan to the actions of his foot soldiers? Anything to suggest he knew what they were doing?”

“I’m sure he did,” Alfred said, frustrated, “But he never told me, never said anything concrete, just – ”

_“Now,” Ivan said, in a surprisingly gentle voice, “What have I said to you about being kind to my pets?”_

He shuddered.

Ludwig waited for him to finish the thought out loud, and when it became clear he wasn’t about to, he frowned. “Well, don’t worry about that. It’s our job to find the connection. In the meantime, we’ll also take down what you have to say about your abuse from the soldiers, while you were kept in his facility. Sound good?”

Alfred hesitated, then nodded. It didn’t sound good, exactly, but what could he say?

“Do you want your family around, when you’re describing to us what happened?”

Alfred nodded again, not meeting any of their eyes. They’d hear it eventually, anyway.

“Kiku?”

Alfred nodded, this time intently. Kiku knew. Everything he was about to say, he’d told Kiku at some point or another. He’d gotten a sick pleasure out of describing his nightmares in detail to Kiku at the beginning of their companionship, trying to find something, _anything_ to scare him off, like he’d scared off his previous caretakers and Matthew.

Ludwig paused, then, and looked Alfred in the eye. “Gilbert’s collected your hospital files, from every time you’ve gone. We’re in the process of collecting reports about your escape.”

Alfred turned white. That wasn’t important, right? He didn’t need to go into detail about that, right?

Ludwig continued, “We’ve put off this part, but I don’t want to delay much longer. The sooner we finish with your story, the more we can plan. Also, it’ll be good to practice, for when you actually take the stand. Can you tell us, in detail, what Ivan did?”

_I want to leave,_ Alfred thought. Everyone was staring at him, expectant and worried and ready, readier than him. He gulped, paused, then said, “Okay. I can do that.”

“Alright,” Ludwig replied, “Then let’s begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivan's views don't reflect mine at ALL - I just want to put that out there lol. I'm dealing with some particularly sensitive stuff, and I want to make sure I'm doing it well, so if you have any comments or constructive criticism, please don't hesitate to share! 
> 
> Finally, I wish I could say that the next chapter was gonna come out as quickly as this one, but I can't. I'm really sorry, and it won't be six months like the gap between one and two, but I'm too busy to give you any kind of consistent schedule. OTL, as they used to say :P


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